


Crash Landed

by cloudfree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Plot Devices, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudfree/pseuds/cloudfree
Summary: When Dean finds a stranger in his yard, it gets easier to forget how alone he's felt for the past few months, ever since his brother left for college and his girlfriend dumped him. Castiel is otherworldly, and doesn't really understand human culture, but over time he begins to mend Dean's broken heart and chase away the loneliness that threatens to swallow him whole.





	Crash Landed

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I posted anything but I promise I'm still here! My other multichapter work is still being written and that belongs to a different fandom, but check it out if you want! 
> 
> School started recently and it's a really crucial time for me, so I won't be too active on here cause I'll be too busy studying lol. But the updates will come! Please be patient with me. 
> 
> I wrote this a while ago and was working up the nerve to post it, so I'm doing that now. I've written a few chapters already so I'll be posting those weekly (or every other week, I haven't decided yet) after revising and editing them some more. Hope you enjoy the first chapter!

 

Dean wakes up to the same old routine.

 

Same old quiet house, same old empty feeling down in his chest. His family isn’t with him anymore -- his brother Sam’s just gone off to college, not two weeks ago, everyone else is dead, last time he checked --  and his girlfriend’s familiar, comforting warmth won’t be either.

 

 _Well, ex-girlfriend, now._ She broke up with him, no, Dean broke up with _her,_ when he finally grew a pair and realized just how much of a bitch she was being. Using his son as a bargaining chip, but at the same time insisting that Ben wasn’t his. All the usual shit you’d get from a shitty relationship like theirs.

 

Fuck you too, Lisa.

 

The house is too quiet now. Every creak of the floorboards that isn’t made by the ones under his own feet make him jump, and he thinks he might be seeing faces in the mirror behind him when he’s brushing his teeth. Funny, how loneliness can turn you into a lunatic sometimes.

 

He considers calling Charlie, his best friend who’s been with him literally since day one, but then he remembers she’s off in Spain honeymooning with her wife. Wouldn’t want to interrupt that, even if he might be a little lonely (not like he’d care to admit it, anyway). The house is way too big for two people, but Sam wouldn’t listen when he bought it for them. Said it was “spacious, and perfect for you and Lisa and Ben to live in when I go off to college, Dean.”

 

But then Lisa hightailed it with Ben, and Sam went off to law school, promising to visit weekends and holidays and whenever he could, so now it’s just empty.

 

Dean goes to the kitchen and makes himself a hot cup of coffee, pitch black like his cold dead heart, and sits down at the dining table. A poster bearing the Stanford insignia leers up at him knowingly and he sighs, picking it up and placing it face down next to him.

 

He takes a sip of the coffee after a long while of just staring at the intricate patterns of cherry oak on the wooden surface -- and spits it out because it’s positively _boiling_. Whatever.

 

The mailbox is positively stuffed full with all the shit he hasn’t bothered to take out of it, but Dean puts it off for another day, shuffling over to the couch and passing the large window that overlooks the front yard while he does. He freezes as something odd occurs to him and draws his attention to the front yard.

 

Bewildered, he snaps his head back to the window. Nothing’s out of the ordinary, his lawn’s a bright summer green and clipped tidily, the azaleas out front have seen better days but are still pulling through, the tough little bastards, and everything seems okay at first.

 

Except there’s a guy, facedown on the dark asphalt of his driveway. _In his front yard._

 

Nothing about him stands out to Dean on first glance. He looks little more than a dark smudge of wild brown hair and spandex, unmoving. Would’ve been camouflaged perfectly against the pitch if Dean wasn’t observant enough.

 

He doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

 

“Oh boy, oooooohhhhhhh boy,” Dean mutters, pacing in front of his window as the gravity of the situation sinks in, “This is not good. Not good at all.” There’s a random guy out there, probably dead for all intents and purposes, and literally all Dean can think about right now is getting arrested.

 

Sam might want to know about the dead guy in their yard, but Dean decides against telling him about it. The younger Winchester has enough on his plate right now already and Dean doesn’t want his little brother to be any more stressed out than he probably is now.

 

A hysterical laugh bubbles in his throat, but it refuses to come out. This is the most eventful morning he’s had since, like, middle school.

 

Working up the nerve to go outside, he gets out the gun they keep in his drawer -- not that he has any ammo to use it with, but no one has to know _that --_ and tiptoes out the front door, keeping it ajar behind him just in case he needs to make a hasty retreat.

 

Wind rustles the grass and makes the lawn look like a glimmering ocean of green. The stranger’s hair ruffles too, but the rest of him is eerily still.

 

Dean finds a stick that’s conveniently lying on the pavement next to where he stands. Gripping it tightly, he approaches the body with bated breath. If he was alive at all, he makes no indication that he felt the jab.

 

“Hope he’s alive, anyway…” he mutters under his breath as he prods it experimentally with the stick. The mass squeaks suddenly, an undignified noise, and flips over onto his back.

 

 _Shit._ Dean leaps back instantly, aiming the gun at the guy’s head in case he tries something funny. Curious eyes open to peer at him in confusion. His mouth opens and closes a few times but nothing comes out.

 

“Who the hell are you?” says Dean, gun at the ready.

 

The man sits up and inclines his head at Dean. A weird hissing noise comes out of his mouth that puts Dean on edge. And there’s more to this guy that Dean couldn’t see before. He looks human, or at least he did before, but now that Dean’s seen the pointed, tapered ears that hid behind the shock of brown hair and the weird, gill-like ridges that run up the sides of his neck, he knows that the man is anything but.

 

Not to mention his eyes. There is no way human eyes could be that shade of blue, with rings of pure gold blurring the borders of his irises. Dean forgets he’s staring until the stranger makes that same weird clicking and hissing sound again, gesturing to the weird device lodged into the side of his neck. His eyes bug in frustration.

 

“Y-you need help getting that off?” Dean asks warily. He really doesn’t feel like getting any closer to the guy than he is already. What if he has rabies or something? Dean doesn’t want rabies.

 

The stranger shakes his head furiously. Pointing at his mouth, and then at the device again, he growls in a decidedly non-threatening way. And Dean’s watched too many sci-fi flicks with Charlie to not understand what that means.

 

“That some sort of...translator or something?” Dean says uncertainly, pointing at his own mouth and emphasizing the syllables to imitate speaking. The guy nods slowly, he himself seeming uncertain. “And, uh… is it broken? Do you need help fixing it?” Dean mimes fixing something the best he can, unsure if the message is getting through. But the guy nods again, more vigorously, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

 

Dean sighs. “Okay, come with me.”

 

The guy’s head perks up as Dean beckons him, and his eyes shine almost like a puppy’s would, but he trails Dean almost hesitantly, as if he expects him to suddenly jump him or something. It’d be really cute if Dean knew what the fuck he was. 

 

And Dean doesn’t blame him for being wary. If he found himself on the street in the state he’s currently in, he’d be jumpy, too. He hasn’t shaved or showered in days -- there’s a scruffy five o’ clock shadow cast on his face, and he’s pretty sure his face just constantly reads ‘if you touch me I will fucking eviscerate you” nowadays.

 

He’s pretty sure now is the time that he should call someone, maybe Sam, or even the cops. But the man -- alien?? behind him doesn’t seem dangerous, more confused if anything, and Dean can hold his own if he needs to, though he suspects he won’t. He doesn’t need Sam or Charlie or anyone to live his own life, damn it.

 

It’s time to get over this rut he’s put himself into. He’s got to be a man, and pick up the pieces Lisa left behind. That everyone left behind. With him.

 

He lets the guy go first before following him into the house, allowing himself to look back for only a second before the door closes behind them.


End file.
